Do You Believe in Magic

chapter FOUR



Sunday afternoon, Francie was about to turn on her computer to check her e-mail when the doorbell rang. She was almost afraid it was Clay at her door and she still hadn’t decided what to do about or with him. It was Tamara, thank goodness.

“Hey,” the redhead said when Francie let her in. “How was the date?”

“What, no ‘Good afternoon,’ or ‘How are you?’” Francie teased.

“You know me, I cut right to the chase,” Tamara grinned back.

“Well, come on in. You want something to drink? I was going to make some tea.”

“That sounds good.” Tamara followed her into the kitchen and plunked herself down at the table. “So, give.”

“The show was great,” Francie said as she filled the kettle and put it on the stove. She described what they had seen and where they had eaten dinner. “We had a great time talking about basketball. He played on his high-school teams just like I did, and we had a lot of fun arguing about the NBA versus the WNBA.”

Tamara rolled her eyes. “You two must be made for each other. Computers and now basketball. I don’t know any other woman who would have argued with her date about sports. Are you going to see him again?”

Francie prepared the teapot and placed cups on the table as she answered, “We didn’t make any firm plans. I’m sure we both have plenty of work to do. I was assigned to a special project last week, and I’ll have to work late at least one night this week, most likely Thursday. I hope it won’t be Tuesday, because my basketball league plays at the Y then.” There, she’d told Tamara about Thursday, so her mission was accomplished. A wave of remorse about deceiving her friend struck her, and she turned back to the stove to hide her feelings.

“You know, I may just come to watch y’all play sometime.”

“You keep saying that, but you never do.” Francie poured the hot water into the teapot and carried it to the table. As the tea steeped, she asked, “How’s Kevin? How was your date?”

“It was okay,” Tamara replied, spooning honey into her cup. “We went to the new club over by the Galleria. Kevin was feeling really good. He hinted about some ‘big plans at work,’”—she waggled her fingers in quote marks—”but he wouldn’t tell me what they are exactly.”

“Oh?” Francie tried to say nonchalantly, but thought the word came out in a croak. She coughed to cover her reaction and poured the tea.

“Yeah, it’s probably some sales promotion. You know how these sales types are, always looking to the next big score, the next big client.”

“How’s the shop?” Francie asked to change the subject, and they talked about Tamara’s business for the rest of her visit.

After the redhead left, Francie sat at her computer, staring blankly at the screen. What was she going to do about Tamara? She felt like she was betraying her closest friend. She had to be able to do something to protect Tamara from Kevin, no matter what. But she knew neither she nor Tamara made very good liars, Tamara least of all. Clay and Herb had to stop Kevin from whatever he was attempting to find in the Brazos computer, so she herself couldn’t say anything to spoil the project. Therefore, all she could do for Tamara was what she was doing—keeping her mouth shut. God, she hated deception.

Morosely she booted up the computer and stared out the window for several minutes after the familiar display appeared. When no answer appeared out of computer heaven, she sighed and clicked the button to check her e-mail.





Sunday afternoon Clay went over to Daria’s. Their sister, Gloriana, was in town, but wanted to go back to the plant and herb farm that evening, so they were eating early. Moving up the dinner hour fit in with his plans to call Francie later, and he didn’t often have the chance to see Glori these days, so he was happy to accept the invitation.

Being with his family would also take his mind off Francie for a little while. He still hadn’t come to terms with his reaction the previous evening. Maybe not thinking about it would allow the situation to percolate in his brain cells. Let his subconscious handle the puzzle. He had often used the method to solve problems in the past. Besides, to deal with Glori’s usual teasing, he had to pay attention or she’d get the best of him. As her older brother, he couldn’t allow that.

He pulled up to Daria’s home off Sunset Boulevard by Rice University and saw Gloriana’s dark green Mercedes convertible sitting in front. His younger sister drove like a bat out of hell, and Clay shook his head as he got out of his car, remembering the last time he had been so foolish as to let her drive him somewhere. Talk about a white-knuckle trip.

It was almost the end of September, but the temperatures remained high, and in Daria’s garden, the lush plantings still bloomed. Clay surveyed the grounds with a practiced eye as he approached the front porch. From the state of the plants, he had at least another month before Daria would be wheedling him to help Bent clean out the annuals.

“Hello, Zorro, Lolita,” he greeted the two cats sitting by the front steps.

“Mmrow,” answered Zorro, his large black body lounging insolently, the tip of his tail flicking. Lolita came to twine around Clay’s legs as he rang the doorbell. He reached down to pet her while he waited. “Yaaah,” the dainty Abyssinian said, arching her back to take full advantage of his caress.

John “Bent” Benthausen opened the door with a big smile for his brother-in-law. “Come on in. We’re back here.” The tall, auburn-haired man led the way to the kitchen.

“Hi!” Two green-eyed women greeted Clay as he walked in. They put down the cooking implements they had been using, and both gave him a hug at the same time.

“Hi, yourselves,” Clay said as he returned the hug. He leaned back and surveyed his two sisters. They looked so much alike, so like their mother, he thought again as he always did when seeing them together after the passage of time between visits. The only major differences were that Gloriana was a little taller and her dark hair much longer, past her shoulder blades, in fact, while Daria’s short curls danced whenever she shook her head.

“Something smells good,” Clay said, sniffing the air as he released them.

“Roast chicken,” Daria stated as the timer dinged. “And it’s time to baste.” She put on oven mitts and, opening the oven, pulled out the pot. First she poured sherry over the browning bird, then used a baster to suck up the drippings and squirt them over the chicken. “I’m trying a new recipe for stuffing,” she told Clay, “with apples and pecans and raisins. No bread.”

“But lots of sherry,” Bent interjected. “She soaked the raisins in the stuff.”

“Does Mother know about this?” Clay asked as he stole a piece of the tomato Gloriana was cutting for salad.

“She will as soon as I get home,” Gloriana said. “We concocted the recipe yesterday.”

“Sounds good.” Clay smiled a thank-you at Bent’s handing him a glass of wine. “So, how have you been, Glori? How’re the plants and your classes and all?”

“Fine. The farm’s doing well, the university is its usual self, and my botany classes are full,” Gloriana replied, as she scraped the tomatoes off the cutting board into the salad bowl. “I have a couple of very promising graduate students this year.”

“Didn’t I see your name in W2? Some sort of letter to the editor about how to cast spells?”

“Oh, that was in response to an article by a theoretical mathematician who wants to reduce spell-casting to a strict formula. He claims casting never emerged from the Middle Ages. Shows how much he knows, stuck in his ivory tower. I attempted to set him right.”

“If anybody can do it, it’s you,” Clay laughed.

“I’m sure he’s one of those with no respect for our history or knowledge of practical conjuring. You know how these theory guys have their heads in the sky,” Gloriana stated as she put the salad in the refrigerator.

Daria interrupted. “Let’s take this discussion into the family room. The chicken needs to cook about a half an hour longer.” She picked up a tray of munchies and led the way.

The conversation over hors d’oeuvres and dinner covered Gloriana’s writings and other articles in W2, The Witches and Warlocks Journal; Bent’s reorganization of his finance department, sans criminals; Daria’s latest consulting work; and finally, Clay’s hacker investigation.

Daria brought up the latter subject as they finished dessert and coffee. “How’s Francie and the big sting?” she asked.

Clay noted the expression of conspiracy and glee on her face but couldn’t fathom what was behind it. Why such a look when talking about a hacker? “She’s fine. She’s being a big help. She’s still bothered about her friend, but she’s going ahead with the plan. The sting is progressing.”

“What are you talking about?” Gloriana interjected.

Clay told her the story of the hacker and the plan for catching him.

“And you’re pretending to date this Francie to get close to the hacker?” Gloriana asked.

“Sort of,” Clay answered, thinking that pretense was rapidly becoming reality.

“You ought to see her, Glori,” Daria said to her sister. “She’s about six feet tall, blond, and gorgeous. I’m sure it’s a real hardship for Clay.”

“Oh, really!” Glori grinned. “A real bombshell? Built like a proverbial brick . . . ?” She waved her hands in the classic hourglass shape.

“Yeah,” Daria smirked.

“All right, you two,” Clay grumbled as the two women laughed. God save him from little sisters.

“So, how are y’all getting along?” Daria persisted.

Her nonchalance could have floated a boat, it was so strong. Clay had seen her play the game before. It usually boded ill for him, and he raised his eyebrows as he asked pointedly, “Fine. Why?”

Daria laughed, more of a snicker really, and exclaimed, “He’s clueless!” She rested her forearms on the table, leaning toward her puzzled brother. “When you’re with her, does your blood seem to run faster and hotter? Can you feel yourself drowning in her eyes? Do you have the constant need to touch her? Do you think about her when you’re not with her? When you kiss her—and I’m sure you’ve kissed her by now—is it all you can do not to take it further, or at least as close as the nearest bed? Does she reciprocate your feelings?”

“Daria! Whatever is or is not between Francie and me is none of your business!” He never discussed any woman he was interested in with his sisters, and he wasn’t about to start now, even if Daria did hit every nail right on the head.

“Oh, Clay, you idiot. I was right. I told you after we met her. I’ll bet she’s your soul mate!” she retorted, still laughing.

“What?!? My s-, s- . . .” He couldn’t say the word. A cold zip of panic raced up his spine as his thought processes stalled. His magic center grew warmer, however.

“Soul mate. S-O-U-L M-A-T-E. The good old soulmate imperative is at it again. I just know it,” she crowed.

Clay sat back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face, partly to hide his expression from Daria and partly to jiggle his brain back to action. Was she right? Memories of the night before flooded his mind. Walking away from Francie was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

No, she couldn’t be, he denied to himself. He wasn’t ready to meet the woman who would become the love of his life. He did know he had to give his sister an answer and decided the best defense was offense.

“How did you arrive at this conclusion? You’ve only seen the woman once. This doesn’t make any sense, Daria. You’ve had soul mates on the brain ever since you and Bent got together. Just because you found yours in a nonpractitioner doesn’t mean that I will, too.” He tried to make his voice as stern and disbelieving as possible, but he could see it didn’t affect her. He ignored the itch behind his breastbone.

“I observed the two of you together at our meeting, remember? All of a sudden, you were both looking at each other so intently I’m surprised sparks didn’t shoot between you. She was nervous, and it wasn’t because of the subject of the discussion or because she’d done something wrong. She was definitely reacting to you. Furthermore, she’s not impervious to magic. She jumped when I kicked the spells up a notch. I know you saw that.”

“So what? A lot of nonpractitioners react that way,” he retaliated.

“You know,” Gloriana put in with an innocent tone matching Daria’s, “just the other day, Mother and Daddy were wondering when you and I were going to find our mates now that Daria’s found Bent.”

“I don’t need such nonsense from you, too,” Clay complained, pointing his finger at her. “Bent, give me some help here.” He extended his hand toward his brother-in-law.

“Hey, I’m just telling you what they were saying.” Gloriana carefully folded her napkin and shrugged at him, but her face displayed a gleeful smile.

Bent looked from one woman to the other. “Daria, give your brother a break. You know what it’s like, finding your soul mate and then getting used to the idea. That damned imperative can make it downright painful.” He rubbed his chest as if it still hurt.

Clay recalled the story of the imperative’s “persuasive” techniques it used on Bent and winced in sympathy.

“Clay teased both of us enough. You remember.” Daria assumed a smart-alecky voice. “How many soul mates does it take to screw in a lightbulb? Two and nobody cares about the lightbulb.” She went back to her normal tone while Gloriana laughed. “It’s time he got some of his own back,” Daria told her husband. “Well?” she asked Clay.

“No, I don’t think so,” he answered, but a sharp pain hit his solar plexus, as if he had been stabbed with a hot ice pick. He hid his grimace behind taking a drink of water.

Her eyebrows raised, Daria just sat there, looking at him.

“It could be,” he admitted, as memories of the kiss flooded his mind. His chest grew pleasantly warm.

He slumped in his chair. “Hell, I don’t know.” The ice pick jabbed him again. What the hell was going on with his stomach? Well, worry about that later, he told himself. This business Daria was talking about was much more serious.

He waved his hand in surrender. “Yeah, all right, it might be.” The pain ceased, and the warmth returned, accompanied by a tingle. It felt like his magic center was grinning.

He replayed the memories of last night and the night before. Those kisses, those leave-you-weak-and-hurting kisses, those can’t-get-enough-of-her kisses. If Francie was his mate, then no wonder she’d affected him the way she did, more than any other woman. No wonder he had so much trouble sleeping. All he could think of was her. “God, if this is what you went through, I apologize for all the teasing.”

Bent chuckled. “And it only gets better—or worse, before it gets better.”

“Thanks a lot,” Clay muttered. “You’re a big help.”

“Now comes the real question.” Daria sobered and looked him straight in the eye. “When are you going to tell her about us, what we are?”

The deal he had made with Francie came back to him: No camouflage, no artificial barriers. Only the truth. Now he knew the source of the idea and his notion last night of telling her about his wizardry—the imperative’s handiwork. “You’re right. I owe it to her to tell her all about practitioners and soul mates before . . .”

“Before you’re irrevocably bonded,” Daria finished for him.

Clay nodded. “She has to know what she’s getting into, doesn’t she? I need to do the same thing you did with Bent, don’t I? Lay it all out for Francie.”

“I concur,” Bent said as Daria nodded. “If you’re feeling the way about Francie like I was about Daria, with your control hanging by a thread, the sooner the better.”

“Thanks for the advice, I guess.” Clay rubbed his hand over his face. “I need to think about this before I do anything. I’m still not totally convinced she’s the one. We’ve only been out twice. I hardly know the woman.” He thought his last sentence sounded hollow, even to himself. His center gave a flutter, as if it was laughing at him.

“Let us know what happens,” Daria said. “But first, let’s clear the table. Glori, shouldn’t you be hitting the road if you want to get home by nine o’clock?”

“As much as I hate to leave just when the discussion’s getting good, you’re right,” Gloriana said. “But y’all have to keep me posted. Shall I mention any of this to our parents?”

“Glori, if you have any regard for me at all, please don’t say anything to Mother or Dad,” Clay pleaded. “I don’t need them on my back.”

“Okay, but it will cost you, and I’m not making any promises, either. You know how Mother seems to pull secrets out of us as easily as she makes up healing potions.”

“Only too well,” Clay said with a grimace.

There was a flurry of activity as the foursome cleared the table, said good-bye to Gloriana, and watched her drive away. Clay and Bent helped with the dishes and talked sports. Daria did not bring up Francie or soul mates again.

“I’ve got to be going,” Clay said when the chores were finished. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Good luck with Francie,” Daria told him as she hugged him.

“If we can lend moral support or Daria can turn us into dragon illusions or anything as a demonstration, let us know,” Bent said as he walked Clay to the front gate and out of Daria’s hearing. “You know, I don’t envy you. I wanted Daria so badly, I didn’t care what she was or if some relative who didn’t like me would turn me into a toad. But I don’t have the slightest idea how it will be for a woman on the other side of the equation. Women take things so differently from men. God knows, Daria agonized over the whole situation for days.”

“Yeah, I remember what both of you told me about the experience. But, damn, the pressure’s incredible, isn’t it? And the whole concept of some ancient whatever-it-is pushing you together, not to mention the consequences, takes some getting used to.” Clay rubbed the back of his neck where the muscles had not relaxed since Daria’s interrogation.

“There you were, carefree bachelor, then wham?” Bent said with a grin, hitting one fist into the other palm for emphasis.

“Wham is right.”

“But you already know she’s worth it, don’t you? Speaking from experience, you’re going to be vacillating between frustration and euphoria. Are you going to accept the inevitable or fight?”

“I don’t know. Part of me is asking if Francie really is the one. I mean, I’ve dated nonpractitioners before, and the practitioner rules for women don’t apply to them. I can make love to them and not get caught in this irrevocable bond. Is she just another one of them, and the chemistry is stronger than usual?

“But part of me is feeling like something very important just happened, and it’s going to take some getting used to. This is the trapped feeling Daria talked about, isn’t it?” At the same time, however, he felt wonderful, if frustrated. Would Francie feel trapped by the phenomenon—the soul-mate imperative? The annoyance in his chest returned.

“I think Daria felt ambushed before the attraction kicked in,” Bent said. “She kept talking about free will and making up her own mind, not merely accepting such a medieval concept, not being forced, being in control, that sort of thing. When she finally accepted the idea for herself, then she worried I would feel trapped or bamboozled.”

He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “I have to tell you, the idea of being soul mates, committed for life and all the rest, scared the hell out of me at first, and that’s putting it mildly. I fought it for a while, and the damn thing almost killed me. The imperative won in the end, but it wasn’t easy on either of us.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” Clay said with a sarcastic grimace. The damn irritation increased, and he rubbed it again.

Bent’s eyebrows shot up as he saw what Clay was doing and he grinned. “Got an itch?”

“Yeah, something bit me, I think.”

“Clay, ol’ buddy, I hate to tell you this, but this bite wasn’t from a bug, not the six-legged variety, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” He looked down at his chest, as if he could see through his shirt.

“Daria and I both had the same sort of itch. It went into a pain for me, and I thought I was getting an ulcer. It’s right over the center of your magic, isn’t it?”

“So what?” Clay asked as he scratched. Then it hit him like a blow to the solar plexus, and he flattened his hand over the spot. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Bent started laughing again.

“But you’re not a practitioner. How could you itch?”

“Hell if I know. Francie probably itches, too. It’s a sure sign, or so your father told me after the fact.”

“I’m doomed.” Clay could only shake his head.

“And remember, being soul mates just gets better all the time.” Bent had a smug grin on his face.

“Yeah, assuming I survive the notification process.” Clay clapped him on the shoulder and left before Bent told him something else, anything else he didn’t want to know.